


Haunted Hearts

by brennasaur



Series: Morrigan Skyshard [3]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Blood and Gore, F/M, Ghosts, Grief/Mourning, Half-Elves, Haunted Houses, Loss, Possession, The Underdark (Forgotten Realms)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:40:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29767383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brennasaur/pseuds/brennasaur
Summary: Morrigan Skyshard traverses a bedeviled abode with her bard beau, and must face the aftermath of a brush with death.
Series: Morrigan Skyshard [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2088324





	Haunted Hearts

The frail woman had asked the wayward group--who’d begun to call themselves “The Unpredictables”, not for any real reason, but it lightened the mood in the ever present dour grimness of their new home in the Underdark--for help bringing justice to her husband’s murderer. The snag came when she’d revealed the deceased was brutally decapitated by an angry spirit that had forced her out of her home. The party gave their pitiful condolences and assured the widow they would make sure she could return home safe.

Morrigan shot a nervous glance at M’akzwehl as they approached the threshold. His soft face, usually sporting a carefree smile, was wan and trembling—she knew he hadn’t been keen on further dealings with the supernatural. Still, they pushed forward in spite of any fear or misgivings they were battling. Upon entering in the foyer, they were met with an axe-wielding madman, who charged directly toward Gwynt and phased through him as if he’d been a stiff summer breeze. Just as they were all beginning to settle back into their skin, they were accosted by the incessant banging of what they assumed was a terrible fate being met, like a macabre drumming of an Abyssal marching band. 

Goblet, or maybe they were going by Pam currently, in a stroke of bravery suggested they split up to cover more ground. Morrigan watched as the faces of her compatriots cycled through terror, hesitance, then reluctant acceptance. She and M'akz took a door to the left, uncovering a dining area suffering from disuse. Bumps and creaks could be heard from the far reaches of the building but could easily be dismissed as the natural commotion of a thorough search party. 

“Looks empteh,” came the sing-song voice of M’akzwehl from underneath a darkened cupboard. Morrigan gave him a stern nod, then both their eyes trailed to the door in the back of the room that seemed to be leading deeper into the haunted house. She thought she could hear the bard’s breath suck in sharply. At least—she hoped that was him. 

The sickening creak the door made wasn’t entirely necessary, Morrigan thought, as she tightened her grip on the handle of her greataxe. She shivered. As they crept down the dark hall, she tried to focus on the frame of the slender bard in front of her to ground herself. Just underneath the cape; above where his jaunty legs started... she could almost make out—

She blushed and shook her head, catching the pale, spectral form of a gnome woman in her periphery. She found her resolve somewhere between the shame of being caught staring at M’akz and the crippling fear of being jumped by a spirit. She turned, recognizing the bloody knife in the woman’s hands, and choked up on her axe. This woman, however, did not seem to notice their presence. She walked with purpose; almost running through M’akz as he catapulted out of her way. The half-elves shared a nervous glance, but followed slowly behind.

As they trailed the spirit, the couple were distracted by a door to their right. Silently, they decided together that it would be unwise to leave it unexplored, risking an untimely surprise from their rear. Inspection led to the discovery of nothing more than a coat closet.

“‘Spect we lost ‘er by now,” chimed her companion. He furtively shot her a glance. “If I’m honest, this whole place’s givin’ me the heebies. Could I...would it be alright if I held your hand?”

Morrigan’s heart fluttered. “Sure. Not a problem. You’re safe as long as you’re with me.” She wished she’d sounded more confident as she stuck her hand out and met the bare fingers jutting out of his raggedy gloves. Together they stepped out of the closet and turned to resume their chase. 

Suddenly, a chill ran through Morrigan as M'akz's grip went ice cold, and all at once she saw the ghost of the gnome pass through his body like steam rolling off of a lake in freezing weather. It made its way through him easily, his skin slowly warming again, and continued down the hallway as she had before. Horrified, Morrigan dropped his hand and examined the man next to her. His pewter grey eyes were as wide as ale flagons, but he paused only to catch his breath, and after the experience he seemed more intent on catching up to the ghost. 

They hurried along to the room at the end of the hallway, which seemed to be a dining room of sorts. There was a large bloodstain in the middle of the space, and as they watched, the female gnome knelt down and began stabbing herself violently. The specter faded, leaving a stunned M'akz and Morrigan behind. The pair searched the remains of whatever furniture had been left behind by the house’s previous owners. When that turned up fruitless, they turned to head back to the group, only to notice the gnome woman was back once more. Morrigan sought the solace of M’akzwehl’s hand in hers once again, threading her fingers through his and squeezing. His gaze never left the ghost as it began to slowly repeat its cycle in front of them. 

“I have a dumb idea.”

The words caused Morrigan to startle, the words breaking the eerie silence of the violent act continuing to unfold around them. She looked at him with concern.

“What?”

The ghost had almost reached the bloodstain now, and M’akz spoke very quickly.

“I’m goin’ to let her possess me. Maybe if we can break the cycle, we can ask her questions. I think I can stop ’er. But if I’m not able to— if somethin’ goes wrong, you have to take me down.”

Morrigan’s heart stuttered at the thought of having to hurt this man, the one thing that had brought her so much joy when nothing and no one else could penetrate her defenses.

“I think you give me too much credit.”

He chuckled shakily at her reply, but there was no mirth in it.

“It has to be me. I wouldn’t be able to fight you if you tried this instead. I wouldn’t stand a chance. This is the only way.”

Morrigan tensed, opening her mouth to argue. M’akz turned then and stared straight into her golden eyes, turning her insides into knots. She felt her stomach lurch as he asked a final question.

“Do you trust me?”

Did she trust him? The answer was a resounding yes; she trusted him with not only her life, but her heart too, and yet here it was, breaking. Of course she trusted him, but it was herself she was wary of. This was going to go wrong, she could feel it. How had he not figured out yet that she was a curse? With his eyes still on hers, she lifted a hand to touch his cheek.

“I do.”

And with a quick kiss pressed to her palm, he was out of her grip and standing in front of where the ghost had just completed its death and was preparing to start all over again. M’akzwehl stepped into it, and looked back at her.

“Just-- please follow me, okay?”

Morrigan nodded, powerless to do anything but watch as his posture changed to an unnatural, frozen pose. His eyes went blank, losing their ever-present joy and the soft crinkles at the edges of his mouth relaxing into a resting grimace. It hurt to look at him. She saw a flash in her mind suddenly of her father, lying still in the cave they found him in. His face slowly turned grey, hair falling down his curved ears like snow, transforming into the lifeless body of M’akz. Bile rose in her throat and she hurriedly blinked away tears and the memory as she realized M’akzwehl was already out of the room. She sprinted into the hallway, trying to keep up. The ghost maneuvered M’akz up the stairs and to a bedroom filled with the rest of their party. Their initial surprise turned to concern, taking in Morrigan’s stark white face and M’akz’s direction, seeing a pattern they had already witnessed. 

Morrigan stopped in the doorway and watched as M’akz pulled two children, a boy and a girl, out of the shadows, their ghostly forms rippling with the movement. The spectral knife appeared in his hands, and he slit each child’s throat and unceremoniously turned to head out of the door. Morrigan followed close behind, and she heard distant murmurs from her friends as they attempted to discern what was going on. She left them behind and quickly followed the possessed half-drow back down the stairs and through the hallway that led to the dining room, and it was only then that Morrigan realized what was about to happen. The knife in his hand smoked like a fired gun, and her heart began to race. The cycle was happening anyway, and M’akz had been powerless to stop it.

“No!”

She lunged for him, only managing to grab hold of his trailing purple cape, which was subsequently ripped from her hands. She fell to the ground, hard, knocking the wind out of her lungs. Morrigan’s chest felt like it was about to explode; her heart leaping like a frightened canary in a coal mine, and it took everything within her to force out a plea to the entity inside M’akzwehl.

“Stop it, please!”

The ghost showed no sign of letting him go. All Morrigan could do was crawl desperately towards M’akz, unable to find the strength to stand. She searched around her briefly, noting the continued absence of the rest of their group. Why didn’t they follow them? Why weren’t they here to help? She continued her anguished stride but didn’t make it very far before she heard the soft thud of M’akzwehl’s knees hitting the floor. She looked up to see the knife raised in midair; a gleam coming off of the now corporeal blade. His eyes met hers, and she watched them roll to the ceiling, not unlike his maddening show of chivalry last night, when the first slice to his abdomen came. Morrigan cried out, begging someone, anyone to spare him. His lips, the same mouth that had brought her to her breaking point not 24 hours before, were open in a soft ‘o’ shape of surprise. The knife struck again and again and again, leaving jagged holes that oozed gore. Morrigan’s hands slid in that thick, hot liquid as she finally reached him, the man she loved, far too late. 

She didn’t see the ghost leave but she knew it was over; M’akzwehl was now slumped on the ground, gone. She sobbed and grabbed his face, her hands leaving streaks of red on his cheeks and through his hair as she gently tugged his head back and tried to kiss him awake. Wasn’t that part of the stories her mother used to tell her before bed? True love’s kiss was the greatest of all magic? She kissed him over and over, but nothing happened. Her own words echoed back to her and all she could hear before clutching him to her chest, closing her eyes, and letting out a guttural scream was her broken promise.

You’re safe as long as you’re with me.

When she opened her eyes again, she was met with darkness. Disoriented, she tried to remember where she was. She looked around slowly, eyes registering four plain, familiar walls and an even more familiar ceiling. It was the tavern, then. She explored the space a little more as consciousness slowly seeped back into her veins. She found her arms were empty, but her chest held the same heaviness it always did. For a second, Morrigan felt a rise of hope in her heart that maybe she had awoken from some terrible dream and gently rose to sitting, expecting to see the towheaded half-Drow sleeping soundly on her bosom again. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw the bed in its entirety; empty save for her. She reached over and placed a pale hand on the sheets next to her, which lay smooth as the first night they had stayed at the Foaming Mug. The spot was cold, and Morrigan drew back her shaking fingers and brought her knees up to her chest. It was true, then. What was she to do now? She felt empty. A hole that M’akzwehl had begun to fill was barren again; holding only memories of love she had never deserved.

Her tears came without warning, and she collapsed into herself. She could not stay here. She couldn’t face her friends; they had to have found out what she did by now. She thought of hatred clouding their faces, of losing what little light she had left, and something in her broke. She threw herself on the floor, searching for her zirkwood pouch, lovingly made for her by Shushar. She felt something thump her hip as she fell; and she registered her body for the first time. It was the pouch. She was fully clothed, she realized grimly, and she couldn’t even remember how she got into this room. She pushed the questions away as she reached into the bag and pulled out one of the little daggers Milo had procured for her. The blade was a dull silver, reminding her of the ghostly knife that had sliced M’akz’s flesh like butter. Her stomach churned, and she dry heaved by the foot of the bed, gasping for air.

When she could catch her breath, she lifted the dagger to one slender white wrist and prepared to let the blade sink into her tender flesh where it would bite into her skin with all the delicacy of a child eating a soft fruit. She inhaled sharply as a bubble of red weeped from the start of the wound, and the pain jolted her brain awake. A memory stirred deep within her, of the ghostly gnome holding her child and talking to her. She tried to chase the bright and airy feeling it left her with, struggling to uncover the rest of the recollection, but her extremities suddenly seized as she heard a slight sound at the door. She made out the gentle music of a key being inserted into the lock and began to panic. She knew she couldn’t finish the job before whoever it was entered, and she did not want to be saved, especially not by the friends she had so completely betrayed. All she could do was drop the dagger with a tinny sound of defeat and watch the door creak open. 

Her eyes widened as she took in the figure standing in the doorway. Her eyes drifted from the beanpole legs to the vested chest to finally, the bright white hair of the man she lost. For a moment, she wondered if she had actually succeeded in leaving the mortal coil behind; and if this was the afterlife. The angel in front of her had a bright grin that she watched fade to a grimace as his eyes landed on her. His eyebrows knit together, and it was then she knew. This wasn’t paradise at all. This was some kind of torture she was to endure, some penance that she had to pay. A higher power had a sick sense of humor, and they were letting M’akzwehl’s spirit take his revenge on her. She bowed her head, ready to take whatever he threw at her. Something clinked in his arms as he walked, and her mind was full of images of weapons of all sorts and sizes just ready to play with her supple skin.

Suddenly, the smell of food hit her. She whipped her head up to see M’akz setting a tray down on the bed filled with breakfast foods of all kinds. He knelt down beside her and grabbed her wrist.

“Morrigan, what happened? You’re hurt.”

His lithe and calloused fingers gently caressed the spot as he sang a few healing words and the cut sealed up like it had never existed at all. His touch was warm, and his breath was hot as it trailed through his nostrils. They flared with concern as Morrigan leaned forward cautiously and stuck her hands up his shirt. He jumped, stifling a surprised gasp.

“Well, I thought we’d get to this after breakfast, but I suppose it can wait—“

M’akzwehl trailed off as Morrigan’s fingers did not slide his shirt from his shoulders, but instead felt around his abdomen. She scooted closer, her head thudding against his chest. His heart quickened, and he knew she heard it. She let out a contented sigh and tried to snuggle in closer. Embarrassed, he stood up, softly taking her with him.

“What is goin’ on with you, love?”

Morrigan wordlessly traced his face, tears shining in her eyes.

“You’re not dead.”

Looking into his visage then, she remembered everything. Their party had followed the pair from the upstairs bedroom to the nightmare in the dining room. Gwynt, having watched Morrigan’s failed attempt to drop M’akzwehl to the ground had stopped him for her before M’akz had reached the spot where the gnome woman took her own life. She left his body and continued the cycle herself. Quinn had calmed Morrigan down, assuring her that M’akzwehl was never in any danger; Goblet had his throat slashed upstairs only to have the wound disappear. They had rid the house of not only the axe-wielding poltergeist but also a hidden threat of stinking, writhing oozes, and their absence alone lifted the pall on the house and set all the trapped spirits free into the afterlife, but not before the group had one last encounter with the liberated gnome female. 

Morrigan had listened as Dunham questioned the woman, asking her what had happened in the house and ultimately arriving at the matter at hand. The gnome herself looked into the paladin’s eyes, her chest rising with the illusion of breath; such habits would probably be hard to break, Morrigan surmised.

I think there’s a new family that wants to live here.

Dunham had nodded, asking his next question slowly and solemnly.

Is that okay with you?

The gnome hesitated for the briefest of moments. In that silence, Morrigan felt that weight again; the ever present ache of lives and loves lost. What the woman said next floored her, and her eyes filled with tears.

I think— I think it is.

Morrigan looked at the determination on the gnome’s face and felt something slide into place within her. Somewhere along the way, she had let her heart turn into a haunted house of sorts. She stored her father there, and her mother, and every failure she had brought upon herself since being thrust into the Underdark. She refused to let anyone in; afraid of moving on. Here was this woman in front of her who had lost everything, who was willing to let life into her house again. Morrigan wanted that life back. She wanted— she wanted him. She stole a glance at M’akz, and the weight lifted from her heart. The joy that filled it now instead buoyed her voice from inside her chest.

It’s time to let joy back in.

The gnome looked her way and smiled; nodding before disappearing completely, and her fog-like ascension broke Morrigan’s trance, bringing her back to the here and now with a very confused M’akzwehl.

“No, very much alive, thank you. Are you okay?”

Morrigan brought her lips to his in answer, a slow and devastating rhythm that left them both breathless. She smiled a full, toothy grin at him. The fear from her nightmare had subsided, but her mind relished the taste of him on her tongue; having thought she would have to go the rest of her life without it just moments before. She shot a glare at the knot of his cumbersome pants as they broke apart, and he wordlessly and deftly untied them as she unknotted her hair from the braid it was captured in. It wasn’t long before they were both undraped, and Morrigan pressed her taut form against M’akzwehl’s. Her fiery hair fell down her shoulders like a waterfall, obscuring bits of her face and upper chest as she looked at him. She pressed her lips to his ear and whispered a confession that had been tugging at her mind since they had left the haunted house.

“M’akz, I need you.”

Imperceptibly, M’akzwehl stiffened under the weight of this. If Morrigan had looked into his ocean eyes then, she would have seen the same wide-eyed glance she saw the first time the ghost passed through him, but she was too preoccupied to even wait for an answer. She guided him to the bed, a siren calling the half-Drow to his inevitable doom. His mind was racing, but at the moment she was spread out before him, all was forgotten, including the food on the edge of the bed. One wayward stretch of Morrigan’s leg sent it tumbling to the ground and as M’akz gave a low curse, she laughed out loud.

“Don’t worry. If it’s breakfast in bed you want—“

She trailed a hand from her chest to her core, taunting him. He rolled his eyes good naturedly, repeating her own favored show of exasperation to him. With a chuckle, she pulled him to her, unable to wait any longer. As the two tangled with the sheets and with each other, Morrigan lifted her voice to the heavens in ecstasy, a hymn of thanks to any higher power listening for not snuffing out the light of her sun.


End file.
